


Phone Calls with Mother

by Syrum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Family, Family Drama, M/M, Mummy isn't nice, Phone Calls & Telephones, Until she is, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: A phone call from Mycroft's mother gives Greg some insight into why his fiance hasn't introduced him to his parents just yet.





	Phone Calls with Mother

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a silly idea that I ended up playing with due to frustrations at how not well chapter 3 of Missing is going.

The phone was ringing.  Not his mobile, nor Mycroft’s either, and not the over-loud thing in Mycroft’s personal office either; the one that Greg had promised - and had to sign a contract to legally state - that he would never touch.  No, this was a different noise, a high-pitched trill from the reading room that seemed strange and out of place.

Greg hadn’t been aware that they _had_ another phone.

“I’ll get that.”  He called through the bathroom door, the sound of water hitting tile drowning out some if not all of the sound of movement from within.

“Thank you, Gregory.  I will be finished shortly.”  Mycroft called back, followed by the thud and clatter of plastic on porcelain as Mycroft knocked Greg’s razer onto the shower floor.  Again.

The phone continued to trill, and it took a little longer than Greg would have liked to locate the thing, half-hidden behind a bust of some famous dead guy - Mycroft’s addition to the apartment, certainly not his.  They had lived there together for almost six months, how had he not known that they had another phone? Not that he spent overly much time in Mycroft’s personal home library, admittedly. It stopped once before he managed to find it, clicking to answer machine without a message having been left, then almost immediately started to ring again.  Whoever was trying to get through _really_ wanted to speak to someone.

Finally, perhaps only half a ring from switching to answer machine a second time, Greg found the handset sat in its neat little cradle and pressed the green answer button.  “Hullo?”

Silence, for a long moment, then finally a woman’s voice sounded over the line.

“Is this the housekeeper I am speaking with?”  Whoever she was, it was clear she was very well to-do, one of the members of high society that Greg tended to avoid where possible.  Which, sadly, was not always easy considering the functions he was occasionally dragged along to as a result of Mycroft’s position. How had she got their number?

“I- no?  This is Greg.”  The woman huffed a very put-upon sigh down the phone, and he did not miss the note of irritation in her voice when she spoke again.

“Well, ‘ _Greg_ ’, would you kindly put my son on the line, I should like to speak with him _immediately_.”  To most, she would likely be a rather intimidating woman to speak with.  Greg, however, had experienced the same and worse - admittedly usually aimed at almost anyone other than himself, and he was getting better at reigning Mycroft in - from his fiance.  

“You’re Mycroft’s mum?”  Well that explained how she had the number of a phone Greg hadn’t even known existed (one which he, apparently, half owned) and why she was calling in the first place.  The sound of the bathroom door opening coincided near-perfectly with the noise of irritation on the other end of the line. “Hang on a sec, then.”

“Who is it, darling?”  Mycroft’s voice carried through from the bedroom, and Greg followed after it, letting his attention hover over the half-revealed shoulder blades and sprinkling of ginger curls visible in the open V at the chest of his would-be husband’s loosely tied dressing gown.

“Your mum wants a word.”  Passing the phone over, Greg did not miss the way Mycroft’s mouth curled down at the corners into a frown that was part annoyance and all distaste.  He was somewhat surprised, however, when rather than putting the handset to his ear, he pressed the loudspeaker key and tossed it down onto the bed.

“What is it that you need, Mummy?”  The tone was civil enough at least, if rather dismissive, and Greg tried not to stare too inappropriately as Mycroft unfastened the belt of his dressing gown, shucking the fabric from his shoulders to pool at his feet, leaving himself entirely bare for a few long and glorious moments before stepping into a clean set of underwear.

Admittedly, he hadn’t tried very hard.

“Mycroft, darling, you’ve been avoiding my calls.”  She was clearly putting on an overly exaggerated pout, and Greg could instantly tell where Sherlock got that particular trait from.  “I only wished to ensure that you and your brother were _well_.”

“And I can assure you that we are.”  Mycroft snipped, socks firmly in place on his feet as he stepped into a freshly pressed pair of trousers.  Still smart, but not one of his suits, their post-lunch plans consisting of little more than cuddling on the ridiculous corner sofa and watching the most awful sounding, most mind-numbing things Greg could find on Netflix.

“And Sherlock, how is he doing?”  She pressed, and Greg was under the distinct impression that the woman was far more interested in hearing about her younger son than the one she was presently speaking with.  Which, when he thought about it, was likely more to do with Sherlock being Sherlock as opposed to any familial favouritism.

“He is doing as he always does; making my life difficult and sticking his nose in where it is neither wanted nor required.  Which is to say, he is _fine_.”

“Well, I find that I’m reassured that at least one of my boys is alive.”  Mrs Holmes huffed, and Greg leaned against the edge of the door frame, arms crossed over his chest as he watched his fiance dress.  “Are you sure you’re quite alright though? I don’t like the thought of you being under the same roof as that-” She seemed to flounder for a moment, and Greg could almost picture her waving her free hand in search of a word they all knew she had grasped, clearly having something of a flare for the dramatic “- _butler_ of yours.”

“Mummy, I do not _have_ a butler.”  Mycroft had stopped buttoning his shirt - the blue one that Greg liked, it brought out his eyes and was casual enough that he didn’t mind wrinkling it - gaze now fixed to the phone on the bed and Greg could feel the simmering tension, threatening to snap.

“Well _whatever_ fancy word you want to call him.  Frightfully rough, didn’t like the sound of him at all.”  Well, that hurt, maybe a little - hearing the mother of the man he loved speak poorly of him wasn’t how Greg had planned on spending his day off.  Still, it explained in part at least why Mycroft neglected to speak with his parents and why their engagement had not been announced to them yet. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know him, didn’t know of their relationship, it still stung.

“Are you, by any chance, referring to _Gregory_?”  His tone had taken on that dangerous edge, the one that even Greg knew not to push against, and yet his mother had either not noticed or did not care.

“Yes, that one.  Not an ounce of proper decorum in him, I’d say.  Mycroft, I know of a lovely young gentleman looking for similar work, if you would let me-”

“Mummy.”  If the sharp snap of his voice hadn’t given Mycroft’s anger away, the deep flush travelling up his neck certainly would have.  “ _Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade_ is a fully competent police officer, the best in his field, he has succeeded in putting away more top-tier criminals at his present age than any other DI in history and he played an indispensable role in the case against James Moriarty which almost claimed Sherlock’s life.”

“Mycr-”  He did not let her finish, volume increasing and the angry flush flooding his cheeks.

“ _In addition_ to all of that, he is one of the few people Sherlock will willingly refer to as a friend.  And, most importantly, _he is my fiance._   **_Good day_ ** , Mummy.”  The red disconnect button was pressed with such force that the handset creaked in distress, and it was only Greg’s gentle fingers around his hands which stopped Mycroft from launching the phone into the bedroom wall after he had hung up.

“Hey, it’s alright love.”  Placing the phone back down onto the bed, Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s chest, pulling him in for some much needed contact.  He was trembling, wound up, yet as he rubbed his hands in gentle circles over the fabric of Mycroft’s shirt he could feel his lover begin to relax.  “You get yourself so wound up sweetheart, it’s fine. Don’t mind being your ‘ _bit o’ rough_ ’, you know that.”

“Still, I am sorry you had to listen to that.”  Breathing in deeply, then out again, Mycroft finally returned the embrace, one hand reaching up to cup the back of Greg’s neck while the other buried itself in his hoodie, holding him close.  “This is why I chose not to tell them; my parents can be unbearable at the best of times.”

“Not ashamed of me, are you?  Your London copper?” He prodded gently, pulling back a little so that he might watch Mycroft’s shifting expressions, given freely to him and him alone.

“Heavens, no!”  It didn’t matter that Greg had been joking, Mycroft reacted as though he had been stung.  Which, likely meant he had already gone over the possibility in his head that Greg might think that, along with each possible outcome and worried himself sick over it.  “You are the best thing that has ever happened in my otherwise dull and unexciting existence, I would not give you up for all of the tea in the world.”

“That’s an awful lot of tea, if you’re including India _and_ China.”  Greg hummed, face splitting into a grin as he nuzzled at Mycroft’s chin.  “You sure?”

“Quite sure.”  And there finally, _finally_ , Mycroft relaxed against him, tilting his head so that Greg could place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.  “I did, after all, put that engagement ring on your finger for a _reason_ , Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

* * *

It was almost two hours later, when the phone rang again.  Mycroft had padded out of the bedroom wearing only his socks, with the promise of coffee and perhaps a scone if they had any in the kitchen, and Greg was left alone in their bed coming down from a pleasure-induced high, his insides aching pleasantly.

The shrill ringing cut through his peace like a knife.

The phone had been knocked to the floor during their earlier activities, and was not difficult to retrieve from underneath his discarded boxers.  With no small amount of trepidation, he answered it.

“Hullo?”

“Is that-”  She paused, and of _course_ it was Mycroft’s mum again.  “-Gregory?”

“Yeah, speaking.  Mycroft’s indisposed at the moment, so you’ve got me, how can I help?”  He had no intentions of letting her speak with Mycroft again that afternoon, not if she was only going to upset him again.  That being said, there was no sense being rude to his future mother-in-law, he reasoned. Even if she _had_ started it.

“Yes, well, I had rather hoped I might catch you.”  She sounded perhaps slightly nervous, on edge. Certainly well outside of her comfort zone.  “I was terribly rude to you earlier, when I had no reason to be.”

“Yeah, kinda heard that.”  He admitted, and it wasn’t as though he had been eavesdropping; Mycroft had put the call on speaker for a reason, had wanted him to be included, though that likely had more to do with some sort of perceived guilt rather than anything else.

“I thought you might have.  I’d like to offer up an olive branch, if you will.  There is no excuse for my behavior and I apologise.”  Greg was a little taken aback; he of any of the conversations he might have expected, this was not one he could have anticipated.  He grinned, and chose to take her at her word.

“Don’t worry about it, no harm no foul, right?  I get worse from the people I work with so don’t sweat it.”  Not that he would repeat any of the insults he got at work, mind.  They were meant in the best possible way - mostly - even if they were in poor taste and not suited for polite company.

“Perhaps, but you’re not the future son-in-law of anyone you work with.”  Mrs Holmes quipped, and Greg couldn’t fight the twitch of a smile at the corners of his lips.  “Or, I should hope you aren’t.”

“No, I don’t think you need to worry about that, Mycroft’s not the sharing type.”  Which, he thought, might be the understatement of the century. Not that Mycroft was overly _clingy_ per se, but he had a very impressive glower which he would happily aim at any poor sod who made the mistake of trying to make moves on _his_ Greg.

“Oh I know that much well enough, he never has been.”  She chuckled, and the sound was too similar to Mycroft’s own laugh to be deniable.  “Tell me, how long have you boys been _stepping out_?”  

“Dating?  Coming up to three years now.”  And really, who used _stepping out_ any more?  Well, Mycroft’s mother did clearly, and his Nan had before she had passed.  Old fashioned, traditional types.

“That long?  I’m not sure Mycroft has ever remained with one person for so long - not that he ever tells me anything any more.  When did he propose?” She was curious, that was...good. Strange, but good.

“How d’you know I didn’t ask him?”

“Because I know my son better than most, Gregory, and he would not allow himself to be outdone _even_ by his own fiance.”  She had him there, and he could hear the amusement in her voice.

“I’ll agree with you there.”  Greg laughed, wriggling further down the pillows and finding that he quite liked speaking with this strange, posh woman.  “A month ago, just over. Took me out to this swanky Michelin star restaurant, had hired out the whole place. Live band, the works - must have cost a fortune!  He didn’t propose then though - the daft sod waited until we got home before he pulled the ring out, didn’t want to put any undue pressure on me he said.”

“And of course you said yes.”  As if there was ever any question, really.  It was, if anything, surprising that it had taken them quite so long.

“Well I wasn’t going to say no!  Honestly, if he’d waited much longer I’d have asked him myself.”  The line went silent for a moment, and Greg covered his eyes with his left arm; the conversation had been pleasant enough so far, and he was waiting for it all to come crashing down around his ears.

“Do you love him?”  He hadn’t been expecting that.  She had gone a little quiet, and he wondered if this was the softer, motherly side that he was seeing.  The part of her who stepped away from societal expectations, loved her family and wanted only what was best for her children.

Or, maybe he was reading too much into it.  Greg didn’t think so, though.

“More than life itself.”  Greg peeked out from under his arm as Mycroft stepped back into the room, brow raised in question.  “He’s back, want a word?”

“Please.  Oh, and Gregory dear?  Do look after my son for me, won’t you?”  Something jumped in his chest, and it was clear Mycroft hadn’t missed the pleased smile that coloured his cheeks.  Both much of coffee were placed down on the bedside table which sat on Greg’s side, along with a slice of some sort of sponge - where had Mycroft managed to conjure _that_ from?

“It would be my honour.”  Extending the arm holding the phone, Greg offered up a small, soft smile as Mycroft took it from him and pressed it to his ear.

“Yes?”  While Greg could not hear the other end of the conversation this time around, he did very much enjoy watching the differing thoughts and emotions flickering across Mycroft’s face, knowing that the Iceman mask was removed and discarded only when they were together like this.  “Yes, alright Mummy. Goodbye.”

“Well?”  Greg finally asked as the bed dipped, Mycroft curling against his side, coffee and cake forgotten.

“She wants to meet you.”  The sound was muffled against his shoulder, and Greg reached up to run gentle fingers through Mycroft’s already untamed hair.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”  Mycroft had met Greg’s own mother, this seemed...fair, somehow.  Mycroft turned his face up to look at him, expression splitting into a soft, fond smile.

“Yes, I think it might be.”


End file.
